Eclipsed half moons rise and fall, rise and fall in a steady rhythm over the frozen ocean of white and gray, soft feathers whispering over crystal like foam across solid waves. They move with ease through the night, inked pistons in perfect condition worked continuously by a flawed yet highly functional machinery. They do not falter, nor do the cloven feet catch on rock or root, frozen bank or hidden log. How he do it is a mystery, a riddle yet to answer; perhaps he matches his step with hers as they flow through the woodland realm like demons and ghosts, perhaps it is simply the assumption that something needs to be stepped over at every instance that cause those high, deliberate, flawless steps. There is a lack of speed that is undeniable, yet the sinister grace with which the monster moves make up for it in leaps and bounds. He slither forth like a snake. Silent, unassuming, deadly in his seeming vulnerability; and always do the elegantly carved lobes pend back and forth, catching the words of the dark mistress, the wicked weaver of dreams and nightmares, as well as that beyond her stories, lurking and festering in hidden cracks and crevices.

If what he hears surprise him, the emotions fail to reach the surface of the blackened pool that his his face. If it were not for the ear that constantly returned to her it might have seemed like he wasn't listening at all. The reluctance to revel in his admission of defeat gather no reaction, neither do the assurance that he won't be disappointed tease a reaction from the elegant curve of the neck. He swallow whatever words that might have been brought to mind, simply accept her decision and rest within the silence until she finishes her tale.

Upon acknowledging the question received Morir cock the head ever so slightly to the side, unseeing eyes once more regarding the mare with thoughtful expression as he mull over the information gathered. It is a lot to take in for sure; several concepts he find unfamiliar, relations to ponder and perceived truths to question... The beast eventually shake the head, sending midnight mane dancing around the head to mingle amidst sinister spears and tangle across the face - he lets it rest there, unconcerned with allowing hair before the eyes.

"It's enough for now" he responds, voice as always low and smooth, deep and dark; like the night or perhaps a ravenous feline stalking a prey, if one were inclined to such comparisons. "I shall make my own judgments from here on. The rest can wait till I meet this Tyradon you mentioned... I look forward to hear what you both have in store for the future."

With that he smiled, and like a shadow he followed the demonic daughter as she guided them both towards this feeble, fragile and precarious existence known as safety.